


Subtle

by ivanattempts



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, MorMorMor, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:56:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanattempts/pseuds/ivanattempts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Jim/Rich/Seb. The word is Subtle."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtle

There were differences, of course there were, some of which were mind-numbing in their extremes. It was unthinkable to him, at times, that two people so incredibly close in appearances could differ so widely in personality.

And yet the brothers had, for years, astounded him with their ability to surmount the differences between them in order to make a fool of him, time and again, in the most delicious of ways. God, how he hated them. God, how he loved them. The clear defining factors that set them apart melted away, until the pair were indifferentiable, a trick coin; something like a picture that, when tilted, revealed something else in the differing light, at a new angle. It was infuriating. It was enthralling.

The torrent of swearing falling from his lips this time, as always, was good-natured, but it served to separate the two of them; where as Jim’s mouth quirked into a thin slash of a smile, Richard’s expression softened into an almost –  _almost_ \- apologetic look. The latter was the first to approach, to lay hands on him, fingers stroking along his jaw in a soothing manner.

Oh, what Sebastian would give to run his own hands along the slim man’s form, up to cup those flushed cheeks, and draw him into a bruising kiss, to reward him for his part in the deception.

A right shame his hands were tied behind his back.

Jim seemed to follow his train of thought with ease, as always he seemed to, and soon approached as well, until the two of them were both situated upon his lap, bare limbs tangled and twined, each with a hand upon him, each with a hand upon the other.

“The two of you will be the death of me,” he finally relented, relaxing against his bonds, and settling in to let the evening run its course – as if he had ever had any choice in whether it did so or not.

At the words, the pair simply turned to glance at him, and smiled, one soft, one sharp; and then the two extremes collided, and melted against each other, and if asked to point out which of them was which, even being fully aware at this point, he might have found himself second-guessing his statement.


End file.
